


object permanence

by mintakas



Series: intrepid hearts [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blind Ignis Scientia, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Play, M/M, Porn with Feelings, honestly i'm just weak for the idea of gladio taking care of iggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintakas/pseuds/mintakas
Summary: "Without even realising, he’s humming quietly into Gladio’s mouth, surrendering himself to the sensation of being kissed. He feels an overwhelming receptiveness to everything; the sound of his heart beating in his ears, the sting of a split lip, the texture of Gladio’s open mouth, the way his skin bristles underneath his gentle fingers – an eclectic assortment of stimuli that has Ignis melting away, inch by inch."The first time Ignis wakes up blind, Gladio is there to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Series: intrepid hearts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042911
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	object permanence

Ignis has two fingers resting lightly at the dip between his clavicles. The suprasternal notch, as the technical term goes, although he’s not entirely sure why his subconscious is offering him such useless information at a time like this – he’s counting every beat of his heart, gentle but steady beneath his skin. Alive, then, not dead, as the apparent nothingness would have him believe – though the darkness in all its abundance still _seems_ to point to the latter.

He’s been counting barely a minute before he is alerted to the sound of a loud creaking, like a door being opened – and his hand curls into a fist at his throat.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Iggy.”

The familiar baritone is a welcome sound, and Ignis relaxes, as do his fingers. He spreads them out at his sides to be greeted with the touch of something wonderfully soft – Altissian silk, no doubt. 

The sound of Gladio’s heavy footsteps across a hard floor seem unnecessarily loud to his ears, and he winces against the sudden and unexpected sensation of pain to the left of his face. Burning, as though he had once again found himself a little too close to one of Noct’s poorly judged fire spells.

The thought leaves him a little dizzy as everything comes flooding back to him, the vivid evocation of hours, maybe days before, violent and foreboding. He remembers _everything_ – the sudden onslaught of memories hitting him like a freight train. “Is Noct alright?” he asks, forcing himself to swallow the hard lump in his throat. 

“He’s fine, thanks to you.”

Ignis can hear the nauseating scrape of something being dragged across the floor, followed by the weight of Gladio’s wide palm coming to rest against his shoulder.

“Thank goodness. Well, then, that brings me to my second concern.” 

He can hear Gladio swallow. 

Ignis clears his throat, tries with all his might not to let his voice tremble. 

“I can’t see, Gladio.” 

Gladio takes Ignis’ hand in his own, holds it up against his cheek. Ignis bristles at the roughness of his face, all stubble and scars, and Ignis tries to recall a time that he had been quite so enamoured with the sensation of touch. 

“I’m so sorry, Iggy,” says Gladio. “I should have been there.”

 _Oh_ , thinks Ignis. _Must be obvious, then._

Ignis sighs, scrambles against the sheets to sit up. He feels Gladio’s hands at his arms, and finds he doesn’t have to do much of the job himself. “Don’t be sorry,” he tells him, eventually, the idea of not seeing anything ever again simply inconsequential to what may have been the alternative. “I wouldn’t have done anything differently, in retrospect.” 

Gladio hums at his side, and then he can hear footsteps once more. 

“I know. I just hope _he_ appreciates what you’ve done for him.” 

“Are you leaving?” asks Ignis, because Gladio sounds further away now, like he were at the other end of a very large room. Finds himself surprised to be so saddened as he is by the thought of being alone, in the dark. 

“No, I’m not leaving,” huffs Gladio, and then, a beat later, “I don’t plan on ever leaving your side again, not after this.” The declaration is sweet, if a touch juvenile, and Ignis tuts. 

“Come now – that’s quite an unnecessary chore to burden yourself with.” 

Gladio sounds angry, but not at Ignis. “Unnecessary?” he repeats. Ignis thinks that he’s perhaps trying not to cry. 

“Indeed. There are far more important things to be concerned with.”

Gladio sighs, clearly disgruntled. “You’re – you are _blind,_ Ignis, you understand that?” 

It’s quite an audacious remark, thinks Ignis, but one born from worry and upset. Ignis imagines that Gladio might be kicking himself for it, just a bit. He’s very quiet, afterwards, save for the pacing. 

“Oh?” he ponders, mockingly. “Well, thank heavens you told me, else I might not have noticed.” 

Gladio’s footsteps draw nearer, and soon enough Ignis can feel his proximity. He smells overwhelmingly like leather, something Ignis had never noticed before. “God, I’m sorry, Ig. This isn’t about me.” Ignis imagines Gladio with his head in his hands, and shakes his own head vehemently. 

“Let’s not worry ourselves with what may or may not be. If my visual impairment turns out to be permanent, I will adapt accordingly.” 

There’s a soft creaking of the floor beneath them, as though Gladio were shifting his weight from one foot to another, and Ignis swings his legs over the side of the bed. Isn’t sure what direction he’s facing, finds the lack of awareness to be new and disconcerting. 

He brings his fingers to the affected area of skin, slowly, and recoils at the charred surface. Wonders what he must look like, now, and if it’s quite as offending as it feels. Finds it to be more of a morbid fascination than vanity, although the concern that he might be unsettling to look at does perturb him if just a tad. 

Perhaps more than just a tad, if he were being honest. 

“Does – does it look, erm…” He trails off, dumbly; embarrassed. Pictures Prompto recoiling at the sight of him, and feels like he’s been shot the second the thought surfaces. Looks _aren’t_ everything, but Ignis certainly didn’t want people to be unnerved by him, much less his friends. If the pain had been anything to go by, the Ring of Lucii had been unforgiving. 

Gladio places a tentative hand on Ignis’ knee. “You still look like the same old Ignis to me,” he reassures. “Still annoyingly handsome, as usual.” His thumb rubs circles into Ignis’ leg, and Ignis is lost to the sensation for a moment, utterly bewildered by the way it felt to see nothing and feel everything in tenfold. “I won’t ever let anything happen to you again. That’s a promise, Iggy.” 

“A noble sentiment, Gladio, however that promise should lie with the King, and the King only. You know that. You are the Crownsguard, first and foremost. He needs you more so now than ever, if I am no longer able to fulfil my duty.” 

Gladio’s hand stills against his knee, and he heaves a sigh. “Do you love him?” 

Ignis frowns, utterly blindsided by the question. “I don’t understand. Of course I love him. He is my friend.” 

“That’s not what I meant.”

The realisation of what Gladio had been inferring hits Ignis all at once. He flinches. A full body flinch against the sting of such an unprecedented suggestion. 

“Gladio, I – if it has ever come across as such then I owe the King my apologies. I made a promise to his father and I intend to keep it. I am Noctis’ friend and his Retainer. That is all, and I am sorry if it has ever transpired as anything other than loyalty to the Crown.” 

Ignis is reeling. Had Gladio really thought his fealty was owed to feelings for Noct? The mere suggestion leaves a bitter taste in his mouth – did _everyone_ think that?

“Right. Good. I had to check first.”

The inability to read his expression is maddening, although he supposes that it’s something he might have to get used to. He tries to focus instead on the way Gladio’s hand still rests atop his leg, how his fingertips are pressing little hollows into his skin, not hard enough that it might be uncomfortable, but just enough to let Ignis know that he was there. Not going anywhere. 

“What are you talking about?” Ignis asks after a moment or two of arduous silence, his voice strained with irritation. Embarrassment, in fact – mortified that Gladio had misread his allegiance as having ulterior and, frankly, _vastly_ inappropriate motives toward Noctis. “Gladio, I am at a disadvantage – I can’t see you, and therefore I cannot gauge what’s happening right now. Please, give me something to help me understand what the bloody hell it is that you’re trying to say.” 

And, well, Ignis hadn’t been specific, he supposes. So when he feels a hand snake around the back of his neck, Ignis lets it happen, frozen to the spot, able to focus only on the way it feels to be completely at the mercy of someone else. Exhilarating, if a little alarming.

It takes only a second before Ignis registers that Gladio is kissing him, so softly that it makes him lightheaded. 

Without even realising, he’s humming quietly into Gladio’s mouth, surrendering himself to the sensation of being kissed. He feels an overwhelming receptiveness to everything; the sound of his heart beating in his ears, the sting of a split lip, the texture of Gladio’s open mouth, the way his skin bristles underneath his gentle fingers – an eclectic assortment of stimuli that has Ignis melting away, inch by inch. 

He curls his hands into the bedsheets, feels drunk on the taste of black coffee in Gladio’s mouth, the fact that they could be the only two people left in Altissia and he’d know absolutely nothing about it. The dizzying reality of everything that was happening, everything that _had_ happened – it has him weak at the knees, and he’s thankful to be sitting down. 

Gladio is the one to break the kiss, pulling away just a fraction, probably giving Ignis the time to think. Process, the way he does. Draw some sense from all the chaos. Ignis, however, is just about able to breathe, and that in itself seems to be taking all of his concentration. 

“Iggy, you’ve been staring at me for like, a whole minute. It’s… kinda creeping me out.” 

“In my defence, I don’t know that I’m staring at you.”

“Alright, good point.” 

There’s a light breeze licking at his skin from what he assumes must be an open window, and Ignis prickles against the chill, rubs a hand down his arm absently. “I… I had no idea you felt that way.” 

“Neither did I, until I thought I’d lost you. When I saw you, lying there…” Ignis is listening, intently, draws his eyebrows together when Gladio doesn’t continue. He reaches out a hand, finds purchase against the arm of Gladio’s chair. 

“It was necessary. But look at me,” he doesn’t know it, but Gladio does, stares back into the new silvery grey of Ignis’ eyes, bewitched by their steely glow, “I am fine.”

“I don’t know what I would have done. Hell, Iggy, I might’ve even –,”

Ignis cuts him off by leaning forward and trying to find his mouth. It’s uncoordinated, obviously – and his lips make purchase with Gladio’s cheek. Gladio curls a finger beneath his chin and guides him to the right place. 

Ignis tries to kiss the anxiety right out of him. 

“You needn’t worry,” he whispers against his mouth. “I’m right here.” He leans back, splays a hand against Gladio’s chest, before navigating his way across his shoulder and down the length of his arm. Finds his wrist and guides his open palm to lay upon his beating heart; rhythmic and steady and very much alive.

“Oh,” murmurs Gladio, eventually. “You’re bleeding.” 

He’s right, discovers Ignis. Swipes at his mouth and tastes iron against his tongue, feels the sticky texture smear across his chin. Must have reopened the cuts. 

“Here, let me,” insists Gladio. 

He takes Ignis’ jaw in his hand, tilts his chin up. Licks his thumb and wipes at the blood. Once again, Ignis is lost to the sensation, even if the rubbing does pull at his skin; he finds that he’s enjoying being touched. To feel, in place of light and colour and absolute clarity. 

So when Ignis feels Gladio gently nudge him backwards until he’s splayed out across the bed, Ignis does little to stop him. 

“Is this okay?” asks Gladio, crawling on top of Ignis until he’s straddling his thighs. Ignis nods, and lay perfectly still as Gladio makes quick work of the first five or six buttons of his shirt, parting the fabric for easy access. The heat of his tongue against his flesh is almost too much to bear, and Ignis twists his fingers into the bedsheets.

“ _Mmph_ , Gladio…” 

Gladio lifts his head from littering open mouthed kisses over the the bony expanse of Ignis’ collar bones, tries to decipher the expression on his face. “Oh, I – should I stop?”

“Certainly not.”

“You promise you’re okay?” 

Ignis' toes curl in response to the wet lips at his throat. He arches his neck back; gives Gladio the freedom to roam. “Perfectly. I’m just finding that my body is… a little more receptive to what you’re doing without the aid of my vision.”

Gladio groans. “Fucking Six, Ig, that’s hot.” 

“I’m glad you think so. I’m just…” Ignis clears this throat, feels himself flush red, “I’m, erm. _Forewarning_ you, as it were.” 

Gladio smiles, cards a hand through his hair lazily. Still a mess from his battle with Ardyn, but Gladio thinks it suits him.

“Relax, Iggy. It’s totally fine.” 

Ignis _melts_ into his touch. Gladio watches the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks as he drags a finger down his navel, all the way down to the line of hair leading into his trousers. He twitches, involuntarily, when Gladio leans down to kiss him, drawing idle circles into his skin, all the way up to his chest and torturously low again, but always stopping just before the spot that Ignis wants it most. 

Ignis is almost keening by the time Gladio suddenly stops and sits up, and Ignis finds himself clawing at the air.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“I just had an idea. I’ll be right back. Don’t touch yourself.”

The sound of Gladio scrambling off the bed leaves Ignis suffering whiplash – not to mention a throbbing erection – and he falls back against the pillows, frustrated. In retrospect he probably should have probed Gladio for more information – namely, where in Altissia they even were, how long he’d been out, if Lady Lunafreya was really gone. Everything seemed to have happened so fast – the conversation about whether or not he was in love with Noct, how Gladio had kissed him out of nowhere. Guilt washes over him pretty quickly, and he sighs, twists against the bed to relieve some of the pressure. Doesn’t feel that he deserves it. 

The sound of the door swinging open, and then shut, has him scrambling to sit up again. 

“Where did you go?” he asks, the bed sinking at the end as Gladio climbs on. “In fact, Gladio, I have to know –,”

His breath catches in his throat as something _freezing_ cold touches his skin, something wet – and he’s barely able to stop himself from moaning as it wobbles all the way up and over a nipple. 

“Does that feel okay? Want me to stop?”

“My Gods, Gladio – is that ice?”

“I thought that as you’re feeling “more receptive”, you might enjoy it.” 

Ignis falls back against the pillows again, heaves a shaky breath. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” 

Ignis feels Gladio nudge the ice a fraction, and then the sensation is gone, but Ignis doesn’t move. Waits with bated breath, listens to Gladio shuffle for a second or two.

 _“Oh.”_ The flat of Gladio’s freezing tongue over his nipple is enough to make Ignis’s hips buck upwards, and Gladio chuckles lowly. The sound of it, coupled with the _torturous_ attention to his body, has his head spinning. 

“That a yes to the ice, then?” he teases, licking at Ignis until he’s almost spasming against the bed, feet sliding against the sheets and teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out. It stings, but it helps. “You’ve made yourself bleed, again, Iggy.” 

Ignis can taste it – it’s bleeding more now than before, little beads joining together at the swell of his bottom lip before eventually toppling over the edge and rolling slowly down his chin. 

Suddenly – and Ignis doesn’t know whether to find it utterly disgusting or painfully sexy – Gladio is sucking the offending area, lapping at the blood like an animal, stopping every few moments to soothe the area with his tongue. Ignis wants to make some comment about how there are _definitely_ health risks associated with that sort of thing, but Gladio is unrelenting – until the moment it becomes more pain than pleasure and Ignis jolts. Gladio pulls away instantly, and Ignis feels lightheaded at the sudden surplus of oxygen. 

“Shit, am I hurting you?” he worries, and Ignis feels positively _dopey_ , has to focus on breathing before he can even think about forming a sentence. 

“No. Yes, a little.” He waves his hand in front of him, vaguely – shivers against the cold of a bare chest and the lingering chill from the ice. “But it’s alright. I’m finding the stimuli to be quite overwhelming.” He realises he’s not really making much sense to himself, having wanted to give Gladio the green light but sounding like he’s stuck somewhere on amber, and he shakes his head, reaches out for Gladio and finds the back of his neck. “I’d be disappointed if you stopped,” he confirms, pulling him down. “I _want_ you to touch me.” 

It’s seemingly all the reassurance Gladio needs, and he slides a knee up between Ignis’ legs, curls a hand around the back of his head, holds him there, captive. “You just tell me if it’s too much, okay?” 

Ignis would respond but he’s already focussing too hard on not bearing down against Gladio’s leg, but realises, all too late, that he’s doing it anyway. The word _pathetic_ seems to filter through the fog, mentally berating himself for the blatant lack of self control.

“Okay,” murmurs Gladio, as he strokes the side of Ignis’ cheek. “Let’s get you off, shall we?” 

He knows he’s not going to last. Knows full well that he’s done for the second Gladio undoes the clasp of his belt, tugs his trousers and underwear down just far enough to wrap a hand around him. Gladio’s hands are in fact _enormous_ and Ignis feels consumed by him – can still feel the ice on his chest, the assault on his mouth, the agonising way that Gladio had reduced him to trembling mess without having so much as even looked at his cock.

Now, though, Ignis is completely and utterly ruined. He slaps a hand over his mouth to stop the debauchery from tumbling past his lips – only for Gladio to pull it away, catch the onslaught with his mouth instead. 

Ignis can feel the coiling in his gut by the time Gladio seems to change his mind, quickly replacing his hand with the wetness of his mouth. Ignis had _tried_ to protest when he had felt him crawling down the length of his body, had known that he wouldn’t last even a minute – but in the selfish recesses of his mind had been _hungry_ for it. Gladio has him squirming against the sheets, pining helplessly – and then he’s coming in Gladio’s mouth before he even has the chance to warn him. Loudly, too – emptying an entire chorus of his name toward the ceiling as he convulses. 

He is spent, but still manages to tell Gladio that he’s sorry.

“Why’re you apologising?” asks Gladio. Ignis is twitching with little aftershocks of pleasure, but still tries desperately to ground himself, laying the back of his hand over his forehead. “I was literally trying to make you come. That was the whole point.” 

Ignis’ reels, finds himself trying to blink away the darkness. Realises through the fog that he’s crying. He’s not sobbing, or making any noise – just weeping, silently, the tears cutting wet tracks over the sharp planes of his cheek bones. Gladio must register this only a beat later, because he’s hastily pulling Ignis’ trousers back up and looping an arm beneath his head.

“Iggy?” 

Ignis swipes at his face. “I _think_ … that recent events are, perhaps… catching up with me.” 

Gladio easily pulls Ignis’ body into his own, and Ignis responds in kind, curling up against his chest. He sighs in response to the hand stroking through his hair, and Gladio kisses his forehead. 

“I’m so, so sorry Iggy.” 

“Lady Lunafreya. Is she definitely….”

“'Fraid so.”

“I can’t help but think that if I’d have been quicker –,”

“C’mon, don’t do that. You did everything you could. You saved Noct’s life. Please don’t beat yourself up about this.” 

Ignis nods against his chest sadly. Feels incredibly small against Gladio but allows himself to enjoy the feeling of being vulnerable, sheltered, even – given that he was so used to being the protector rather than the protected. “You know, I… I’d have offered to cook you dinner, given recent developments.” Ignis yawns, turning his face into Gladio’s chest. He then adds, quietly, “I don’t suppose I’ll be doing much cooking anymore.” 

Gladio rocks him, gently, the way one might do to console a child. “Come on, now. Stop thinking.”

Ignis can feel him playing with his hair, carding his fingers through the long strands, and practically liquifies, lets it ease him into a sort of half-sleep, for a while – body giving in to how utterly exhausted he felt. 

He’s sure the last thing he remembers before drifting off completely is a string of hushed promises whispered against his forehead; _I’ve got you, don’t worry, I promise I’ll look after you._

Ignis dreams in stunning technicolour, of the man with tanned skin and the eagle tattoo. Knows that when he wakes, he’ll not be alone – becomes some things, as he had come to realise, were decidedly more permanent than others.

**Author's Note:**

> this was literally just 3500 words of me crying over gladnis i'm so sorry


End file.
